


We are One.

by sas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Insanity, Possession, Why is Stiles always crying?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:58:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sas/pseuds/sas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself within a dark forest where the straight way was lost.”- Dante's Inferno.</p><p>Stiles knows that whatever is inside him is fighting to push him out. Stiles is not ready to give up control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We are One.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted Stiles having a crisis in his mirror, trying to fight off the nogitsune. So I wrote it. Dark!Stiles is doing funny things to my head. Like simultaneous heartbreak and overwhelming attraction.
> 
> The Japanese translation is based on trusting others to translate for me, so if it's wrong, I would really appreciate any help with it.

_Stiles._

He felt it before he heard it, rattling around in his head like a loose knut.

_Sti-iles._

He could feel it inside his chest, like the edges of his consciousness were being dragged into the centre of his body, folding into a small square which could easily slip away into nothing.

He opened his eyes, craving light. He knew he didn’t have long. He pushed himself out of his bed, made a dash for the bathroom. His shaking hands tried to lock the door, but he kept failing. A new wave of unease washed over him. He lunged forward, clutching at the edge of the sink.

The mirror.

“Okay, Stiles, time to wake up.”

_This is not a dream Stiles._

He tried to remember how to wake himself up, but his mind was fuzzy: filled with the noise of his worsening tinnitus and that dragging feeling. It pulled at his core, like a weight was sinking to the pit of his stomach. His knees threatened to buckle underneath him, the sink becoming his only source of stability.

_Give in Stiles, you can’t beat us._

“No.”

He stared at his face in the mirror. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying. Tears ran in streams down his cheeks; his eyes looked dull ‒ not just from the lack of sleep, they looked like the spark of life was slowly ebbing out of them. He screwed his face into a tight knot, pushing the alien feeling back as far as he could.

_Watashi—_

“Stop it. Shut up,” his arms felt too weak to hold him up, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” 

His trembling hands found the cold faucet, he splashed his face with icy water in a vain effort to wake himself. Blackness was beginning to seep into the edges of his vision. He felt like every one of his muscles was trembling underneath his skin.

_Watashi tachi wa danketsushite._

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say!” The voice was louder now. The low notes vibrated his spine, filling him up from the inside. He pushed it. He felt like he would explode any second, pop a blood vessel in his brain and internally bleed to death. But, if you’re going through hell… 

_Yes you do._

His nerve endings sang, burned under the invisible vice-grip of the voice inside his head, inside his chest. He backed up, his back colliding with the door. It clicked into place as Stiles's whole dead weight pushed against it. His weary body slid down the lacquered wood, hitting the tile underneath him with a thump.

“No I don’t.”

He clutched the sides of his head, twisting his fingers into his hair. He tried clasping his hands over his ears. He focuses on the sound of the blood rushing through his head, the tinnitus wailing in his ears. He tried to concentrate on his breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

_We are one._

“No. We’re not. Stop it.”

His vision was slipping in earnest now, a black cloth across his eyes. Images of his friends and his Dad teetered on the edges of his consciousness. He fought to shove them back into the recesses of his mind. He would not let whatever was spreading inside him get to them. It would not see Scott’s sideways smile, Melissa’s warm eyes, Lydia’s concentrated face, the look of pride on his Dad’s face when Stiles scored that winning goal, even Isaac and Allison smiling. It could not have those memories. It could not take those away from him.

_We are one._

No. Stiles felt fire rise from the centre of himself, aiming to burn this invader alive. Stile would not do it, he would not give in. He was not some defenseless kid. He could fight. He would fight. He would battle this feeling back until it gave up. Whatever it was, it would not beat him.

“Get out of my head!”

_Stiles._

In all of this, everything that had happened, Stiles had never wanted to beat something so bad.

“Come on Stiles, wake up.”

His hands absently pounded against his temples; there was no force. He could not muster the power in his actions to truly hit himself, to try and dislodge whatever was in his head that was making a home inside him.

_Let go, Stiles._

His vision swam again. Images of dark forests, a dead tree stump.

“Fuck you. Shut up!”

_This is you, Stiles._

He felt the fire in his stomach recoil. He felt all power leave his limbs. There was a metallic taste like blood flooding his mouth. Blackness. 

“No. This isn’t me.”

_This is us, Stiles._

He forced his eyes open. Harsh fluorescent lights. White tiles. 

“No! You’re wrong.”

He reached above him, tried to grab the towel-rack that was affixed to the wall. His hand fell lamely by his side. The dragging sensation was overcoming everything, he felt his soul fold further in on itself.

_Go to sleep._

“Just wake up Stiles. Wake. Up.” His words came out as a whisper, his lips barely peeling back far enough to push sound past. Fogged rolled across his eyes. Then, darkness.

_Stiles, go to sleep._


End file.
